Sunrise
by I Run With Sporks
Summary: In which Lance, having begrudgingly agreed to to teach Keith Spanish, turns out to be nowhere near as bad a teacher as expected. Inspired by 'Sunrise' from Lin Manuel Miranda's 'In the Heights'.


**It's almost four in the morning. Is this what my life has come to?**

 **Inspired by 'Sunrise' from Lin Manuel Miranda's 'In the Heights'- a damn good musical by the way, take a listen sometime if you haven't already- after somebody on tumblr pointed out that with a little tweaking it could fit Lance and Keith.**

 **I don't own 'In the Heights'. I don't own Voltron. It's 3:54 in the morning, I'm going to take some Benadryl and go to bed. Give it a few minutes and _I'll_ be seeing the sunrise...**

"Are you ready to try again?"

Keith furrowed his brows, taking a moment to consider before nodding. "I think I'm ready."

"Okay," Lance gave an exaggerated shrug in a 'you brought this on yourself' sort of way. Keith rolled his eyes and shot a rubber band Pidge had dropped earlier in his direction. "Ow. Uncalled for. Here we go… esquina?"

"Corner."

"Tienda."

"Store."

"Bombilla."

"Lightbulb."

"You sure?"

"I'm… sure."

"Three out of three, you did all right." Lance allowed a note of faint admiration to color his voice. This one of the few things that didn't come easily to Keith and he had been surprised when he showed up at his room one evening with an expression more suited to fighting aliens armed with nothing but a butter knife than casual conversation and asked Lance to teach him Spanish.

He had briefly considered saying no.

Spanish was… Spanish felt personal. Spanish was summer nights in ninety something degree heat telling scary stories in whispers because Mom said everybody everybody had better be asleep an hour ago or else. Spanish was sitting on the garden wall with Ferny and Luisa eating oranges from the neighbor's tree and getting your clothes covered in juice. Spanish was a black eye and a bleeding lip and the satisfaction of knowing nobody was coming near your brat sister again because somebody's cousin had called Andy a bitch and even if she was only you were allowed to say that. Spanish was nursery rhymes and prayers for the dead. It was 'I hate you' in the same breath as 'I miss you', it was 'I believe in you', 'I'm proud of you', 'I love you'.

It was home and it was his and Lance had felt an ugly feeling boiling up from his stomach at the thought of sharing it with Keith of all people. At the idea of sharing it with _Keith_ when he'd been able to take everything Lance wanted and struggled to get like it was easier than breathing.

But somewhere along the way Keith had managed to take what little dignity he had, too. As much as he hated it, Lance was no longer capable of denying him anything. He would probably have handed over an organ if Keith had asked.

So he gave a silent sigh and agreed.

Looking at the goofy little half grin Keith would have never knowingly allowed himself and how genuinely pleased he was to have made noticable progress, Lance decided it had been the right choice.

"Teach me a little more."

"This isn't teaching, this is reviewing. I'm not giving you more to work with until I know you're not going to confuse them."

"I'm not!"

"It took two weeks to get you to stop mixing up huevos and juegos!"

"Oh, fuck you." Keith grumbled, flushing slightly. "I can do it now. Look, I'll prove it. Test me."

"Okay. What comes from a chicken, juegos or-"

" _Lance._ "

"All _right_. Fine." Lance takes a moment to think of something sufficiently difficult. If Keith wanted a test, he was going to get a test.

"Calor," He said finally, thinking of summer and grass and the color red.

"Heat." Keith translated immediately.

"Anoche."

"Last night."

"Dolor," Lance continued, remembering Sendak. For a moment, the places he'd been burned seemed to sting, as if in memory.

"…Pain." Keith murmered, eyes lowering to stare at his hands.

"That's…" Lance's voice suddenly sounded strange to him. He cleared his throught, trying to shake off the phantom burns and whatever else was bothering him. "That's right. Uh. Llámame?"

"Call me." Keith deadpanned, back to his normal self and thoroughly unimpressed at Lance's humor.

"Azul." Lance countered with a smirk, jerking a thumb at himself. It probably counted as a hint, but whatever.

"Blue." Keith told him with an expression Lance had come to identify as 'I need to stop encouraging you' before surrendering and giving a half laugh.

"Ámame." The word was out before he even thought about it and he immediately felt a strange lurch from somewhere within, a moment of inexplicable panic like when you missed a step going down the stairs and felt yourself begin to fall. He fervently wished for a redo, a reset, a rewind, _something-_ some way to snatch that word back inside him before Keith could examine it too closely, and for at least a week to work out where in God's name that had come from.

He wasn't going to know it. It wasn't a fair test, he'd never taught Keith that word, he'd just wanted to say it. Keith wouldn't know-

"…Love me," said Keith.

It was much quieter than all his other guesses and there was a faint almost defensive note in how he said it, like he was prepared to take it back and make sure Lance regretted hearing it depending on the response. When Lance dared to look at him, he was staring determinedly at the floor, stock still and red faced.

' _Perhaps I do.'_

Lance wanted to die.

"That's. That's what it means, right?" Keith hadn't moved.

"…Yeah. Yeah, it is."  
"I got them all right." Keith said, after a moment. "So you'll teach me some new stuff now, right?"

"Fine," Lance agreed, voice a little too light even in his own ears. "If you really want to know so badly. What do you want to say?"

There was another moment of silence wherein Lance refused to look at Keith's expression and Keith, who never fidgeted ever, picked a hole in his jacket.

"…How do you say 'kiss me'?" Keith finally blurted out, turning to him.

Lance was an expert at misreading signals but he was pretty sure he understood that one.

"Bésame." He managed to get out, face flaming.

"Well," Keith said, and Lance thanked God that for once they were on equal grounds because if Keith had been suave and collected about this instead of as red faced and awkward as he was Lance might have been forced to punch him, hormones and ridiculous crush be damned. "Bésame."


End file.
